


You should show it on the outside

by bluenna



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: M/M, and then there are our children being idiots but what else is new, bellamy and miller are bROS, but i was lazy for g i ve me, i make it seem like theyre each others only friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 02:50:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4003027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluenna/pseuds/bluenna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The working title was “miller thinks he’s sick when he’s actually in love hahhaa what a loser” and that’s really the best way to summarize this fic</p>
            </blockquote>





	You should show it on the outside

**Author's Note:**

> so first of all english is not my first language + i was eager to get this piece of dippidy doo off my hands and didnt read it through so please be so kind and ignore all the mistakes i have made (in this fic not in my life those are unfor g i vabl e)
> 
> second of all miller is a low key drama queen dont tell anyone shhhhh

Miller slumps down on the chair across from Bellamy and hits his head on the table. He groans, maybe a bit too dramatically, and stays there until Bellamy finally acknowledges him.

“What?” Bellamy asks, only briefly glancing up from the map in front of him.

Miller turns his head so he’s resting his cheek against the table and sighs. 

“I think I might be dying.”

His declaration isn’t met as much concern as he had hoped. When Miller looks Bellamy’s still concentrating on the map, one eyebrow lifted slightly. He doubts coming to Bellamy for advice was a good idea, and starts wondering if rolling off the chair and away from the tables would be socially acceptable. 

“Maybe you should go see Abby then,” Bellamy says finally, his tone indifferent, and looks up at Miller, like he’s waiting for him to exclaim ‘oh my god, you’re right, thank you!’ and scramble off.

“I did,” Miller tells him, almost pouting. “She laughed at me.”

“She…” Bellamy starts. He squints at Miller, looking for anything that might hint at what’s wrong with the boy. Miller raises his brow at him. 

“So, what did you say was wrong with you, again?”

“I think I’m dying.”

“Yeah, I got that, but why?”

Miller sits up straight and sets his palms on the table, leaning forward. He bites his bottom lip and frowns before opening his mouth. 

“Ah, well,” he starts. “I’m not actually sure, but it’s weird.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes. “You think literally everything’s weird.”

“Well, I might exaggerate a bit sometimes, but…” Miller runs a hand down his face and shakes his head, sighing. “You know what? Never mind that, let’s get back to me dying. I just get this feeling sometimes, like I feel dizzy, and my heart is trying to beat its way out of my chest and I get all sweaty, it’s – like I said – weird, and it never seems to last longer than a few minutes.”

Bellamy looks blankly at him for a moment and fiddles with the map in front of him. 

“Could it be that you get this feeling after your workouts, because I don’t think doing that many push-ups is actually healthy.”

Ha. Haha. Very funny. It’s like the situation isn’t embarrassing enough for Miller, sure, let’s make fun of him, why not?

“I’m not an idiot,” Miller says, scowling. “It comes at random times, and sometimes I feel like something’s trying to crawl from under my skin, like I might pass out or throw up. It’s not fun.”

Bellamy sighs, shrugging. “I don’t know what to tell you, man. I’m not a doctor, and it probably isn’t that bad if, you know, Abby didn’t think so.”

Well, at least that’s nicely put.

“Yeah,” Miller drawls. 

They sit in silence for a few moments, both staring at the table, before Miller gets up. “I’ll let you get back to whatever you were doing and go… I don’t know, write my will or something.”

Bellamy waves at him with a smirk on his face. “Please, don’t forget to leave me something.”

Miller scoffs. “I’m leaving you nothing, you’re a useless friend.” 

Bellamy has the audacity to laugh at him, so Miller flips him the finger as he walks away.

\--

Miller’s cheeks are burning. He’s fidgeting, his heart is beating fast and his palms are sweaty, and he has no idea why. He’s eating breakfast with Bellamy and a few others and every time he speaks up his voice wavers and he ends up stuffing his mouth full of bread just to shut himself up. It’s horrifying. 

Bellamy is looking at him a bit funny, and Miller widens his eyes at him in order to tell him that this is what he was talking about, but Bellamy just frowns and keeps on eating. 

Miller said so earlier, and he’ll say it again: Bellamy’s a useless, useless friend. 

\--

Over the next week it happens approximately sixteen times. One time when Miller’s making a round through the camp on his shift, once when they’re playing cards by a fire, once at dinner, twice more at breakfast, and other times when he’s not even sure what he was doing.

He goes back to Abby on Friday, but she tells him he’s totally fine and that’s normal in a situation like Miller’s. When Miller demands to know what she’s talking about she seems surprised, and then, again, laughs. Miller leaves even more confused than he was when he went in.

The good news is that he hasn’t actually passed out or puked, so his condition probably isn’t that bad yet. The bad news is this has been going on for a month now, so it can’t be just a flu. And even if it was, it would be some kind of super flu, because this is nothing Miller has experienced before. Miller can deal with fever and cough and running nose, but feeling like his lungs might collapse has never been part of that.

\--

It’s not really as bad as Miller has made it seem. It’s bad but it’s not like he’s actually dying. It’s just… annoying. Like he has an itch he can’t scratch.

Sometimes the feeling completely fucks up with his functioning. On Tuesday he collides with a tree and splits his lip because of it, and it’s all because of this stupid

stupid

feeling.

He makes his way to Bellamy again, moaning and groaning pathetically because five minutes earlier he had felt something like a punch in his stomach and had hit his elbow on a wall and it hurts. Bellamy is looking somewhat wistfully into the woods, but comes out of it when he notices Miller. He holds up his hand when Miller is about to tell him again how he’s fucked, so fucked, and grabs Miller’s arm. Bellamy drags him over to a bench, sits him down and then crouches in front of him, like a parent in front of a child.

“Okay, Miller, I have to tell you something,” Bellamy says. He taps Miller gently on the arm, looking serious. “I know what’s wrong with you.”

Miller freezes. His heart beats rapidly and he almost panics, but Bellamy grips his arm, almost reassuringly. “What?” he asks, quietly.

Bellamy inhales deeply and presses his lips together, like he’s trying to suppress a smile. It makes no sense.

“I know this can come as a bit of shock,” Bellamy says, before he clears his throat and grins, “but you’re not sick, you’re in love with Monty Green.”

Miller’s jaw drops a fraction and he stares at Bellamy like he has grown a second head. 

“No I’m not.”

“You are.”

Miller crosses his arms and glares at Bellamy. “I think I would know if I was in love with someone. And I’m not.”

Bellamy cocks his head at him. “You do realize that every single time you have felt like you might throw up or pass out and whatever else it was that you felt, you’ve been in close proximity with the Green kid. During breakfast you couldn’t sit still because your arms were touching, and when we we’re having game night you almost stumbled into the fire when Monty shoved you for beating him. Also you walked into a tree because Harper put flowers in Monty’s hair, “Bellamy stops himself, looking slightly disgusted and Miller can feel blood draining off his face as Bellamy starts talking again, “Please don’t make me repeat all of this it’s actually making me-“

“Oh fuck.”

Miller collapses forward, hides his face in his knees and crosses his fingers at his neck. “Oh shit, no, fuck, fuck, no-“

Bellamy rubs his back and grins again. “There we go.”

\--

It’s not easier now that Miller knows what is actually wrong with him. If anything, he feels worse. He can’t look at Abby in the eyes, and the woman seems to know Miller has figured it out because she smiles knowingly. He can’t stop making a fool of himself when he’s around Monty, and it’s horrible, especially when Bellamy is somehow always around smirking at him. 

Miller has never been in love, he has never even been crushing on anyone, and now that he is, he doesn’t know what the hell he’s supposed to do.

So, he basically makes a fool of himself. Not on purpose, but that doesn’t really matter when you’ve got your mouth full of dirt and the boy you likes laughing at you so hard he’s almost crying. Or when you start babbling during lunch because you’re super aware of whose knee is pressing against yours and the whole table is staring at you like you’ve lost your mind. He’s making a spectacle of himself and everyone knows what’s going on except Monty, isn’t that just great.

“He’s oblivious,” Miller whispers frantically. He rubs his eyes and groans in frustration, the drink in his hand almost spilling as he nudges Bellamy with his elbow. “I swear, everyone else has figured out that I like him, but he just… he doesn’t. It’s ridiculous.”

“Uh-huh,” Bellamy says. He’s not really listening, but Miller doesn’t mind.

“I told him I liked his hair yesterday and he just smiled. I don’t say things like that to people, what is wrong with me? And why is he always smiling? He’s pretty when he smiles, but could he not smile as often so I could read him better? He’s unsettling. And adorable.” Miller slaps his forehead. “I’m pathetic, god.”

“Uh-huh,” Bellamy repeats.

Miller follows his gaze to the crowd a small distance in front of them. It’s Harper’s birthday, she’s the first one of them to turn eighteen, and everyone’s aiming to get drunk off their asses. They’re making enough commotion to wake half the continent, but no one minds – not even the other campers. Miller figures they wanted to let them have this, but even if they hadn’t, he doubts nothing could’ve stopped them for blowing off some steam.

He takes a sip of his cup, cringes, and downs the rest of its contents. 

“Anyway,” he says once the burning his throat has subsided enough for him to speak, “I’m gonna get more to drink, you want some?”

“Nah, I’m good.” Bellamy pushes his shoulder, smiling. “Go get crazy, kid.”

Miller laughs and gets up. He brushes his jeans and looks down at Bellamy. “You know you can relax too, nothing bad is gonna happen.”

Bellamy snorts. “I know that, I’m just not feeling like being hungover tomorrow.”

“Alright.”

Miller makes his way through the crowd of dancing people to the tables they had dragged from the dining area earlier that day and pours his cup full of what people like to call alcohol but what actually is nasty poison. He turns around, leaning lightly against a table, and stares at the people in front of him. They’re singing now, voices loud and grins on their faces, and they look happy. Miller grins too, because, yeah, he is pretty happy.

He’s about to go and join them, has already taken a step forward, when something wraps around his ankle and he freezes for a moment, his cup halfway to his mouth. He takes a step back and bends down, peering under the table. He wonders how on earth he didn’t notice someone was under there, but then again looking for cute boys under tables wasn’t really his mission tonight.

“Hi,” Monty says, smiling up at him, his legs crossed under him and a cup in his hands.

“Hi. Fancy meeting you here.”

Monty laughs. Miller stares at him as his eyes screw shut and he throws his head back, almost falling backwards with the force of it. “I know, right?” Monty says, once he’s gained his balance. He drinks from his cup, then motions at Miller. “Wanna join me?”

“Yeah,” Miller breaths out, already crouching down to crawl under the table. It’s crowded, and Miller maybe spills his drink, but the company is great and the booze is near, so there’s nothing to complain about.

\--

Bellamy walks around laughing the whole next day and Miller wants to punch him every time he comes close enough. He doesn’t - that is definitely not socially acceptable - but when lunch time comes around he’s really fucking glad everyone else is as fed up with Bellamy’s face as he is because that means he gets to physically drag the guy to another table without anyone trying to stop him. When he slumps back down on his seat, Monty moves his own seat closer to his and leans towards him until his head on his shoulder, muttering a quiet thanks. Miller grunts in response and after a moment of frowning with his eyes closed, he rests his head on top of Monty’s.

\--

A week later Monty asks Miller to join him when he goes looking for some plants Abby’s been asking for, and Miller drops what he’s been doing without a thought. They don’t go far, a couple of miles maybe, before Monty starts going through bushes, his face peeking through the branches every once in a while, like he’s making sure Miller’s still there.

It starts raining after they’ve been out for an hour, and Monty pushes his way out of the bush with a groan. There are leaves in his hair and a small bag full of plants in his other hand, and Miller’s heart flips in his chest. He chooses to ignore it, gets up from the ground where he’s been sitting and motions at the bag. 

“Got everything?”

“Not enough, but it’ll do,” Monty says. He makes a face at the sky. “I think we should get back, I don’t want to get wet. I didn’t even take a jacket.”

He starts walking towards the camp and Miller trails after him. The rain stays light, but after a few minutes Monty starts shivering, and Miller stops to take off his jacket.

“I’m not taking that,” Monty says when he catches what Miller’s doing.

“You are.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, I’m fine, you’re cold.” Miller holds out the jacket, raising his brows at Monty until the boy rolls his eyes and takes it. 

When they’re back at the camp, Monty doesn’t give the jacket back, and Miller doesn’t ask for it. It looks better on Monty anyway.

\--

“Miller.” Bellamy slams his hands against the table and stares at Miller, his eyes narrowed. 

Miller looks around him, wondering what the hell he has done now, and Bellamy snaps his fingers in front of his face, looking impatient.

“What?” Miller asks, not aiming for defensive but still sounding it.

“You have to tell him. Monty. You have to tell Monty that you like him.”

What?

“What?”

“Look. It’s been a month since you asked me to figure out what’s wrong with you a-“

“I never asked you that.”

“And, instead of freaking out every time you’re around him, you’ve started to seem sad, and - god I hate everything – resigned, and I can’t deal with your moping much longer, so can you please, get your shit together and tell him.”

Miller blinks at him, his mouth agape, and Bellamy groans. Then Miller’s being pulled up his seat, and Bellamy’s shoving him gently towards the tents. “Go. Please go, all this teenage drama is killing me.”

Miller starts walking, not because he’s actually planning on telling Monty anything, but because if he stays Bellamy will probably cut off his fingers or something. He walks around the camp for a while, trying to look as innocent as possible, and that is not how he was planning to spend his evening. Although, he’s not sure how he was going to spend it, since Monty’s having some kind of bro-night or whatever with Jasper, and Harper and Monroe are on a date, and now that he thinks of it so are Raven and Wick, Octavia and Lincoln and probably every other couple in camp. Miller kicks at the rocks at his feet and stuffs his hands in his pockets.

“Fuck this,” he mutters to himself. He turns around and goes back to his tent, figuring it’s a good time for sleeping anyway.

He ignores the image of Bellamy pointing at his imaginary watch that shows six pm and pulls the covers over his head.

\--

When Miller wakes up he’s feeling determined. He pulls on his clothes and leaves the tent, planning to tell Bellamy that he’ll tell Monty when he’s ready and if Bellamy’s pretty brain can’t take it, that’s his problem not Miller’s. The conversation doesn’t really go as it had played out in his head, but Bellamy gets the idea. 

“Alright,” he says, and pats Miller on the shoulder.

Miller watches him walk away and wonders where the Bellamy from yesterday went. He doesn’t have time to get to the conclusion he should talk to Abby about him before Monty arrives out of nowhere, his hair a mess and Miller’s jacket draped over his shoulders.

“Hi,” the younger boy says, not looking at Miller, but somewhere over his shoulder.

“Hi?”

“I need to talk to you, do you have a minute?”

Miller doesn’t get to answer before Monty’s already grabbing his arm and pulling him away from the dining area where most of the campers are already eating. They make their way around the center and once they stop hearing the chattering of people, Monty stops. He takes off his jacket and thrusts it to Miller, smiling tightly.

“Uh,” Miller says. He’s feeling a little confused, because this is not something that needs to be away from other people. He can name a few, and definitely some that consist stripping, but thinking about that around Monty is dangerous, so he pushes those thoughts to the furthest corner of his mind.

“This is yours.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“So take it.”

Miller takes it. He holds in his hand and gazes at Monty who seems relieved, but still isn’t looking at Miller.

“You know, you didn’t have to give it back. I mean, I do have other jackets.”

Monty’s face falls, and Miller automatically takes a step forward. 

“What’s wrong,” he demands, stepping forward again as Monty steps backwards.

“Nothing,” Monty says defensively and crosses his arms. “I’m fine, I’m totally fine.”

“You’re not fine.”

“I am.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I am!”

He’s not. Miller can tell he’s not, but for some reason Monty doesn’t feel like sharing. And that’s fine, Miller doesn’t mind, it’s not like they’re good friends or something. He takes a step back and clears his throat. 

“Are we done?”

Monty nods. 

“Okay,” Miller says. He turns around and starts walking back to the dining area. The tables are probably a bit emptier now, so he doesn’t have to wait to get a seat. Except now that he thinks about it, he’s not really hungry anymore. Maybe he’ll just go running. It’s a nice weather at least.

“Shit, Miller, wait.”

Monty appears in front of him, and presses his palm against Miller’s chest until he stops. Miller frowns down at his hand until Monty pulls it back.

“You gave me your jacket,” Monty says, this time looking at Miller. He bites his lip and runs his fingers through his hair. “And you didn’t ask it back.”

“Yeah?”

Monty exhales loudly, crosses his arms before letting them fall again, and then waves them around. “You’re super strict about your stuff. I mean, Harper wanted to borrow that book you have and you were practically breathing down her neck until she gave it back.”

Miller makes a face. He wouldn’t do that. He had already read the book, and it wasn’t even good, plus it’s not his fault Harper is a slow reader. He might have asked Harper once or twice whether or not she was ready, but he definitely wasn’t breathing down anyone’s neck.

“No?” Monty asks with faux surprise. “Octavia tried to sneak a fry off your plate and you almost bit her head off-“

“Fries, Monty, fries. I don’t care if God himself came down and asked for some, I wouldn’t share.”

Monty shrugs. “Alright. How about that time when-“

Miller raises his hands. “Okay, fine, let’s say I’m possessive, what of it?”

Monty looks down at his hands, and up at Miller again. “You let me keep your jacket,” he says quietly.

Miller swallows. “Yeah, well, I told you, I do have other ones, it’s no big deal.”

Monty shakes his head. “No, that’s not-“ he cuts himself off and moves closer until their shoes are touching. “That’s not the point,” he whispers.

“What… what is then?”

Monty looks like he’s about to say something, but seems to decide against it and instead lifts his hand to Miller’s cheek and kisses him.

Miller opens his mouth, exhaling in surprise, and instinctively reaches for Monty, the jacket dropping to the ground as his fingers close around the fabric of Monty’s hoodie. His heart is thrumming in his chest, but he barely notices. He hears the rocks scraping against their shoes as they try to move closer to each other and Monty breathing through his nose, desperate not to separate. He feels the boy’s other hand in his hair, and his firm back under Miller’s hands, and his lips, his lips are warm and urgent against Miller’s, and Miller’s not sure how much he’s going to be able to take before he loses his mind.

“Nate, Nathan, hold on, I…”

Miller follows Monty’s mouth when the boy pulls back, only realizing he has to stop when Monty’s both hands are gripping his shoulders. He blinks his eyes open, and stares at Monty, who looks like he wants nothing less than to stop. He’s beautiful, absolutely gorgeous, and Miller has to swallow down the words before he says them aloud.

“What?” he asks, not bothering to take his hands off of Monty.

Monty licks his lips. “Just to confirm, I want this to be more than a one-time thing - preferably an always thing.”

Miller nods, grinning. He leans forward and rests his forehead against Monty’s.

“Yeah, me too.”

“Good,” Monty exhales. “That’s good.”

He doesn’t continue, doesn’t move, so this time Miller kisses him.

\--

“Hey, Monty,” Bellamy says one day during dinner, laughter in his eyes, “did you know when Miller first started crushing on you, he thought he was sick and going to die?”

The table erupts in laughter, and Miller stands up, grabbing his fork. “I’m going to kill you.”

**Author's Note:**

> i don't know where they got fucking forks


End file.
